


the bloom of youth

by visiblemarket



Series: Tumblr Prompts [12]
Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bad Jokes, M/M, ambiguous sexual content, role play, weird nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 13:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17407502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: "This boyfriend of yours," he says, reaching out to rest his hand on Chas's hip. "What’s he wear these days?"Chas shrugs, lips twitching in a way that portends what he thinks is a particularly clever quip. “Oh, you know. Business casual. Lots of ties and button up shirts. Thousand dollar trench coats. That sort of thing.""Sounds like a real important bloke.""He thinks he is," says Chas, dry.





	the bloom of youth

**Author's Note:**

> [waverly-earp asked me](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/181980777901/28-with-your-fav-constantine-ship) to write "28 with your fav Constantine ship" based on [this meme](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/181855236861/30-days-otp-challenge-nsfwversion) and i only have the one constantine ship, so.

“Come here often?”  

 

 John glances to his right, and grins. "First time," he says, pitched loud to be heard over the ambient buzz, and leans back against the slick-wet wood of the bar. 

Lets his eyes rake up and down the tall, sturdy body beside him as if he's never seen it before— long legs, big hands, broad shoulders. Thick dark hair and a short beard. Green eyes, looking straight at him — he’s been caught staring, then.

_Good_ , John thinks, and smirks.

"Can I buy you a drink?" 

"Don’t take drinks from strangers, mate," John teases, turning toward him anyway.

He laughs, soft and a little sheepish, but squares his shoulders and gamely holds out his hand. "I'm Chas," he says.

John considers lying— that’s a game of its own, really, and maybe a step too far. He takes Chas's hand, struck by the way it swamps his own. 

"John," he offers, finishing the handshake by tugging Chas closer before letting go of his hand. 

Chas smiles at him — soft and familiar and strangely sincere. "Good to meet you, John," he says, and John drops his head for a moment, then looks up again.

"So about that drink then."

"What can I get you?"

"Surprise me," John purrs, as if he doesn't know Chas is going to just catch the bartender's eye, point at the glass John's just drained, and hold up two fingers. Chas has that look about him, of a man who’s good with bartenders and not just because he can catch their eye above the crush of thirsty supplicants. 

Chas hands him his drink once it arrives. Knocks his glass against John's. "Cheers," he says. 

"Bottom's up," John says.

 Chas's lips twitch. "Cheers to that."

They drink.

"So," John says, turning around to put his glass on the bar, and then back to look at Chas, who swoops in, wraps his arm around the back of John's waist, and kisses him.

Presumptuous, to be sure. But _Christ_ , what a rush: Chas's solid and warm and powerfully present, sturdy and inevitable. His tongue is heavy in John’s mouth, lapping filthily at John’s, and his arm is tight around John’s waist, pulling him off the stool and drawing him so tightly against his own body that John couldn’t escape if he wanted to.

John doesn’t want to.

John is quite content to keep getting kissed like this for the duration, especially once he feels a hand sneak past his shirt and along his ribs; the other hand's under John’s chin, and then it isn’t.

Chas pulls away, turns around, picks up his glass, and takes another drink.

John flops back on his stool and leans against the bar again. Throws him a half-hearted glare that Chas easily ignores. 

" _Really_?” John says, under his breath, and Chas gives a quick, smug shrug — he's pleased with himself, amused at having caught John off guard. 

"So," Chas says, light and casual, as if he hadn’t just kissed all the bloody sense out of him, and turns back around.

John rolls his eyes but stops feigning annoyance, slips back to curious flirtation.

" _So,"_ he drawls. “Why me, mate? All the pretty boys or girls you could be chattin' up — " John nods at a few down the bar, several of whom are staring daggers at John. John offers them a wave and a wink before he spins back around, almost falling off his stool in the process. "Why’re you over here?"

"I like your outfit," says Chas.

John's surprised — he’s not sure what he was expecting Chas to say, but it wasn't that — and throws him a quick, coy look. 

"This old thing?" he says, laughing as he pulls at his black leather jacket, but it’s true: he'd gotten it used in the first place and hasn't worn it in years, along with the faded and ripped t-shirt and tight jeans. Tighter than he’d remembered, frankly, the unmistakable consequence of regular home-cooked meals for the better part of a year.

Chas nods, and ducks in again. "My boyfriend used to dress like that," he murmurs. 

John looks up at him, raising his eyebrows. "Boyfriend, eh?" he says. Wishes for a cigarette but can’t risk getting thrown out by lighting one yet. Taps impatiently at the counter instead, and smirks as Chas moves even further into his space, leaning one arm against the bar. John shifts, turning just enough to be able to slip his knee between Chas's legs. "This  _boyfriend_ of yours," he says, reaching out to rest his hand on Chas's hip. "What’s he wear these days?"

Chas shrugs, lips twitching in a way that portends what he thinks is a particularly clever quip. “Oh, you know. Business casual. Lots of ties and button up shirts. Thousand dollar trench coats. That sort of thing."

"Sounds like a real important bloke."

"He thinks he is," says Chas, dry.

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" John says, hooking his fingers in waistline of Chas's trousers. "What's he up to tonight, this man of yours?"

"He's—" Chas starts, huffs as John tugs him closer. "He's supposed to be meeting someone tonight, but she rescheduled. I had to come out here to tell him."

"Coulda just called him, yeah?"

"He has a tendency to lose his phones," Chas says, in tone that suggests this is a gross understatement. 

John swallows a smile. "Sounds a bit of a wanker, your man."

"Oh he's a huge wanker," says Chas. "But I love him anyway."

John blinks. Shakes his head, forces a smile. "Nonsense," he says, perhaps too loud. "Could do so much better, mate."

"Like who? You?"

"Well, I'm _here_ , at least," John points out, sliding his hand under Chas's shirt, wraps his palm around Chas's side. His thumb drifts possessively along Chas's hip and he flinches, pulling away— John lets him go, but gazes up at him, tilting his head a little. Tries for the almost resentful, not quite innocent vulnerability he used to be good at.

_I might let you in_ , it says. _But just for tonight._

It’s just the sort of challenge someone like Chas would fall for, and sure enough, his expression softens. "What do you do?"

"This 'n' that," John offers, though they both know the real answer is _nothing_. “I’m in a band," he adds, off-hand, knowing it'll make Chas laugh.

It does: Chas snorts, loud and surprised, and shakes his head. "Of course you are," he says, still smiling. "Any good?"

"I like to think so."

"Yeah, I don't doubt it," Chas says, fond and condescending, reaching for his drink again. John watches him finish it, then put the glass down, then look back at John, who takes the opportunity to grab at the front of Chas's shirt and pull him down. 

Quick and desperate, noses bumping as Chas backs him against the bar, as he turns his head and swallows at Chas’s tongue. Tangles his fingers in Chas's shirt as he feels Chas’s erection brush against his thigh. 

Chas pulls back, panting, just enough to speak.

"What now?" he says, genuinely uncertain — started something he didn't quite know how to finish, and isn't ashamed to let on that he's at a loss. John’s struck by a swift, warm swell of affection for him, one he feels compelled to choke down and ignore. 

It’s not as easy as it once was.

"Up to you, mate," John says, nuzzling their noses together. "Could get me another drink. Could kiss me again," he says, nudging his leg against the inside of Chas’s thigh. "Or..."

"Or?"  

"Well," John says, and leans up, just enough to whisper in Chas's ear.

* 

"Never done it in a bathroom before," he pants as they stumble into the stall together, and Chas throws him a look like his suspension of disbelief will only go so far. John laughs and lets his head fall back against the wall as Chas locks the door. "Haven't done it in a bathroom in a while," he concedes.

"Give me your jacket," Chas says, already peeling it off of him.

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to steal it," Chas says, exasperated, as he folds it in half and drops it on the floor. "Why do you think?"

"Oh," John says, as Chas drops to his knees and goes to unbutton John's trousers. He drops his hand to the top of Chas's head, runs his fingers through Chas's hair. Arches his back. Feels his shirt ride up, and feels Chas press a kiss to his newly bare stomach, beard rough against John's skin, lips soft and warm.

*

" _Oh,_ " John sighs, tightening his grip on Chas's hair even as he sags back against the wall, kept upright by Chas's hands on his hips and very little else.

* 

They share the sink after — Chas rinsing out his mouth, John washing off his hands — and their eyes catch for a moment in the mirror before they both look away. 

John turns off the faucet. 

Chas reaches out and hands him a paper towel, takes one of his own. 

"Why _are_ you wearing that?"

"Wanted to blend in a bit," John says with a shrug. "Didn’t want to scare anyone off with my _business casual,_ so," he adds, gesturing at his outfit. "Needs must."

Chas laughs a little, shaking his head. "It’s a good look," he says, soft and slightly embarrassed.

"Oh, is it, then?” John says, all innocent surprise, holding back a smirk and leaning casually against the sink. "Could always bring it out again, if you’d like."

"Maybe," Chas says, dropping his gaze as he balls up the paper towel he’s using and tosses it in the bin. “Maybe just for..." he blushes, glancing up at John again. "Just for special occasions."

John grins to himself. "Whatever you say, love."

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (john constantine, a week later, thinking he's figured it out: aww mate, you fancied me when i was an awful punk disaster. how embarrassing for you.
> 
> chas chandler, long suffering and perpetually exhausted: we are literally in a committed relationship now.
> 
> john constantine, the literal worst: still...)
> 
>  


End file.
